


A conversation about socks and boys who are too good-looking for their own good

by oh_simone



Series: tales from the golden age of livejournal [7]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Christmas, Future Fic, Gen, Mafia shenanigans, Party Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21937825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_simone/pseuds/oh_simone
Summary: Yamamoto probably won't make it back for the Vongola holiday party, at least Gokudera desperately hopes not.
Relationships: Gokudera Hayato/Yamamoto Takeshi
Series: tales from the golden age of livejournal [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/406150
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	A conversation about socks and boys who are too good-looking for their own good

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12/2009  
> Cleaning up some [older DW entries](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/83758.html), dug this one up by pure coincidence last night and thought it was seasonally appropriate for sharing. Some light editing later, and here you are. Enjoy!

All of Italy’s greatest families was paying court to the Vongola this week; Gokudera was up to his ears with guest room arrangements and scheduling conflicts and spoiled mafia princesses.  
  
“Sounds exciting,” Yamamoto laughed cheerfully. The reception was scratchy and stuttering; with the sort of money Gianni invested into their communication system, Gokudera was not sure he wanted to know where exactly the hitman was calling him from. “I feel like I’m missing out.”  
  
“Missing out, my ass,” Gokudera grumbled, shouldering the slick phone while scribbling furiously on his clipboard. He shoved his glasses higher up his nose. “You’re a goddamn liar and coward. If you were really here, you’d be hiding in the gym with Squalo and being useless instead of figuring out the seating arrangements and distracting Signora Vito while I sneak Therese Savoir out the fucking back door. Christ, what kind of godless scumbag invites his wife _and_ fucking mistress to a _famiglia_ affair?”  
  
“A guy who just wants everyone to get along?”  
  
Gokudera snorted and wished Yamamoto were in front of him so he could smack him with his clipboard. “The problem with you,” he sneered absently as he continued checking paperwork (arms delivery? Received. Monthly bribes? Paid. Haru’s ridiculously overpriced Jo Malone candles? Ordered.) “You have no social finesse at all. No survival instinct. You just swan into the room, chatting up underage daughters and fiancées and buying socks for the Tenth. Socks!”  
  
“Socks are very practical,” Yamamoto replied mildly. “I thought you’d approve.”  
  
“Not as Christmas presents!” The ballroom resonated with Gokudera’s growl as he clacked down the polished wood, past underlings trying to fashion decorative crystal snowflakes to the walls and arranging beribboned pine boughs along the crown molding. “It’s a good thing you’re due back after Christmas. I’ll pick you up from the airport, and you’ll buy whatever I tell you to buy for the Tenth, _capisce_?”  
  
“ _Capisco_!” The cheerful chirp was practically lost under a crackle of static and thumps and something that sounded suspiciously like Romanian curses. Gokudera winced and held the phone away from his ear, almost missing Yamamoto’s question. “Hey, Gokudera, what about you? Want me to pick up something cool?  
  
“Fuck that,” Gokudera sighed as he took the grand staircase two steps at a time. He narrowly avoided being bowled over by Lambo and I-Pin leading a gaggle of mafia brats in a slide down the polished banister. “Just get your sorry ass back here in one piece, so I can take my one day of the year off worry-free.”  
  
There was a mangled scream and the unmistakable sound of steel sinking into flesh as Yamamoto laughed brightly. “So you do miss me!”  
  
Gokudera’s scowl was reflexive and instantaneous. “Hell no.”  
  
But Yamamoto had somehow caught onto this idea that Gokudera might actually want him back early, and said very earnestly, “Listen, Gokudera, the negotiations are taking a lot less time than projected,” and there was a brief pause while the faint babbling in the background rose in pitch and then died abruptly. “In fact, I’m wrapping up loose ends right now-”  
  
“Maybe that’d be more convincing if you weren’t talking to me, dumbass,” Gokudera grumbled as he was accosted by an assistant. He eyed the two fabric swatches presented to him for inspection. Hmm. Ivory Pearl, or Eggshell Cream?  
  
“-But I can catch an early flight out-”  
  
“If you got blood on any of those documents, I’ll kill you.” Gokudera pointed to his choice and the assistant nodded and hurried off.  
  
“-and be back in time for the ball!”  
  
“Don’t bother.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“Look,” Gokudera cut him off flatly, finally banging into the sanctuary of his office and locking the door behind him. “I really don’t want you here at the ball. There’s a reason why Reborn and the Tenth decided to send you off at the piss-end of the year, or don’t you remember what happened last year with our new associate’s newest wife? Or three years ago when Matsui Rou’s daughter decided to stage a kidnapping? Or- _Christ_ , what a fucking nightmare- Don Rinaldo’s twins?”  
  
“I thought they liked me!”  
  
“They liked you a little too much, bonehead! The brother's still limping after his twin practically murdered him with her golf cart in a jealous rage. You,” Gokudera hissed urgently, “are bad for business. You _cannot_ be here for the ball, do you understand? I don’t think I can deal with any more fall outs from your inept non-attempts at non-flirting without a lot of impolitic homicidal rage.” He shook out a cigarette, ignored the frantic pounding of incompetent lackeys outside his door and lit up with some measure of relief.  
  
“So,” Yamamoto said slowly; Gokudera could just see that furrow between his brows as his brain creaked into gear. “So, you’re saying, if I’m correct, that you don’t want any particular gift. And you want me to miss the Christmas Ball and come home after all the other families have left, because,” and here a warm curl of amusement threaded his voice triumphantly, “you want me all to yourself!”  
  
“What?” Gokudera nearly inhaled his cigarette.  
  
“You love me!” Yamamoto crowed gleefully.  
  
“NO. NO, REALLY. NO.”  
  
“Baby, I’ve been waiting for you _so long_.”  
  
“Go fuck yourself!”  
  
“Ha-ya-to, I miss you too,” Yamamoto crooned sweetly. “I’m coming home, baby. Straight into your loving arms! No mafia princesses or murder twins for me, only you! _Aiiiiyu be hommmu fo Kurisumasuuuu_!”  
  
“ _Die_ ,” Gokudera grit out, and hung up.  
  
And then he sighed, and made a note to change the ball to a masquerade. Maybe if no one actually saw the idiot’s face…

**Author's Note:**

> I'm marginally more active on [Dreamwidth](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/), so feel free to come shout at me there, or stalk my [tumblr](https://aiyahsimone.tumblr.com/) that I always forget about.


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